The Risks of Knitting
by papercut ninja
Summary: Legolas has strange symptoms and the Hobbits suspect something even stranger. Can Aragorn sort things out?
1. Quiddities

_Author's Notes: This is set before Frodo sailed into the west, but after Elanor's birth. . . So something like between March 25th 1421 (of the shire reckoning) and September 22nd of the same year (when Frodo and Sam met The Last Riding of the Keepers of the Rings, in Woody End). I don't know if that makes any sense. Also, as far as dialogue, I've always imagined the Hobbits as speaking in a more modern manner, when compared to Elves, Men, Dwarves, etc. I think this is somewhat evident in the books as well. Or not? With most words in the dialogue, I've gone with the archaic meanings. Also, this is not a slash story, nor a parody, really (not that I mind either). I really hope you like it, and I'd love to hear your opinion (criticism too)._

_Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim to own the characters or realm herein used. They are all so property of Tolkien, his estate, etc._

_Summary: Legolas has strange symptoms, and the Hobbits suspect something even stranger._

* * *

Samwise Gamgee had seen a great many things in his life. Even now, he could scarcely believe that he was in Minas Tirith, the great city of men, soon to be in the presence of its king, a man he had met as a Ranger. Mulling it over, he came to the familiar realization that he had seen quite a lot. He had seen the licking flames of the fires of Mordor, the jagged rocks of the Emyn Muil, legions of Orcs and Men, and adventures few other Hobbits would ever come near to claiming. He had seen unbreakable bonds of friendship and comradery, bravery beyond belief, and sacrifices innumerable. He had seen more races and peoples than he could have dreamt, even Elves, a folk that he had admired all his life. He had found them to be a kind, strong, graceful, beautiful people. He had been privileged to fight alongside an Elf from Rivendell to the banks of the Anduin. With the image of fearless warriors and whistling arrows dancing in his mind, it then came as a surprise to find said Elf seated, legs folded, and knitting. 

Sam could think of a few reasons for knitting. He had only ever seen women knit, after all, at least that was how it was in the Shire. Rosie herself had taken it up. Sam firmly believed it was an honorable craft and had nothing against a male pursuing it, but it puzzled him. This was because one of the main reasons he believed people knitted was because they were making something for a child, usually one that would be arriving in the near future.

And so, as he passed the Elf in question, naturally he could not help but stop to ponder this peculiarity. Perhaps it was different for Elves? Sam had seen gorgeous art molded by the skillful hands of the immortal, mayhap it was considered a unisex art form by the Elves. His interest becoming further peaked, he decided he would consult with Frodo, Merry and Pippin on the matter later, and maybe Strider too at dinner tonight.

"Good afternoon, Sam." The soft voice startled the Hobbit out of his thoughts. Realizing he had been staring, a reddish tint began to creep across his face.

"Ah, um. . . Er, begging your pardon, Mister Legolas," Sam stuttered. Legolas had arrived for the celebration of the year anniversary of the destruction of the ring and the start of the fourth age. It was July now, and although there had been much celebrating in March, a few months ago when the fourth age had begun, Sam had been unable to attend. Sam remembered with chagrin that this was the first he'd seen of Legolas in a good while. _Sam you old fool, what a nice way to say hullo after all this time_ . . . ! "I mean, well, that was mighty rude of me . . . But, well, " Sam turned a brighter red, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "Er. . ."

Legolas laughed quietly, which made Sam feel considerably less uncomfortable. "It is very good to see you again, Samwise." Legolas smiled warmly. Sam smiled back, scratching the back of his head to give his hand something to do. He had missed his companions during their long time apart. He was looking forward to everyone being together again for a time. Legolas placed a hand next to him, as if asking if Sam would like to join him. Sam scuttled over to the Elf sheepishly and took a seat. It would be good to catch up on old times, especially after such an embarrassing reunion. "How have you been?"

"Oh, good, good." Sam caught a glimpse of whatever it was that Legolas had been knitting. It looked curiously like a sock. Surely it would not fit anyone here. He could not look at it long, for Legolas pushed it aside and out of view soon after, presumably into a satchel. Legolas nodded at Sam's words.

"How about Rose?" Legolas asked after a few moments of silence.

"Oh that's right. . . How silly of me to forget!" Sam exclaimed, perking up at the mention of his wife. "Rosie, she's doing well. Little Elanor, too. She has got such golden hair, Elanor I mean. Now that I think of it, her hair reminds me of yours. Only her curls, she's only three months, you know, and already so many. Rosie's gotten to tying them with little ribbons, one on each side. I'd have brought them both with me, to meet everyone and all, but Elanor's still so young, and Rosie and me, we were worried that a trip might have been hard for them both. Oh, I wish they were here. It is a shame, I wanted Elanor to meet everyone proper and all, but I s'pose it'll just have to wait. I mean, Frodo and Merry and Pippin, they've seen her. . . Well of course they've seen her, Samwise, now you're blabbering," Sam began to turn red again, twiddling his thumbs together self-consciously as his sentence faded. "You'll come see her, won't you?" he asked suddenly "you don't have to if you don't want to. . . Rosie and me, we would understand if you didn't have time, you being a Prince and all, I wouldn't want. . . " by the end of it, Sam was muttering to himself, quite red in the face.

"Of course I will come see her." Legolas said, having seen Sam's predicament. Sam nodded happily. Truly, he wanted Elanor to meet Legolas, everyone for that matter, but Sam had the heart-wrenching feeling that there would not be many Elves left in Middle Earth sooner or later and he did not want his posterity to forget. Legolas' eyes flitted towards the entrance to the courtyard. Seeing Legolas raise a fine brow, Sam was tempted to ask if aught was amiss when Frodo, Merry and Pippin rounded the corner, the latter two clutching armfuls of various food stuffs.

"My point is that the kitchen staff have become stingy. I'm sure the court is half way to starving from the rations they serve. Me and Pip, we're just teaching them a well needed lesson. . ."

"And what's that?" Frodo did not sound as though he believed a word of it.

"That people ought to be fed right. Everyone will thank us later." Merry continued matter-of-factly, chewing on a piece of buttered bread. The whole while Pippin nodded justifiably.

"In any case, we cannot very well go marching back to the pantry. "_Terribly sorry, we borrowed some of your food, here, have it back_." " Merry acted the last part as though the kitchen staff stood before him. Unfortunately, Sam did stand before him, which was just as bad. In his heart, a flame of justice had been kindled. He would not have the kitchen staff thinking ill of Hobbit kind. After all, what would they think of Rosie and Elanor when they came to visit if these kitchen raids were continuously in correspondence with the appearances of Hobbits?

"You, you two mischief-makers, how can you take advantage of Mister Strider's hospitality? At this rate you'll empty the stores! The kitchen staff, too, they are distressed enough as it is without having to keep an eye out for pesky walking stomachs like you!" Sam was standing now, his finger pointed accusingly at the two offending Halflings. Legolas sat wide-eyed and mildly surprised by Sam's sense of righteousness. The others had not yet noticed him. "And now you've gone and drug Mister Frodo into the mess." Sam shook his head, his shoulders slumping. "And you had only just gotten onto good terms with them . . ."

There was silence for a time. Merry and Pippin exchanged a glace. Then, from hindmost Sam there came the sound of laughter. Sam jumped. In his haste to chasten his comrades, he had also forgotten that he was in Legolas' presence. Sam was frozen to his place, he dared not turn for fear of revealing his chagrin. He had turned red so many times in so little time, he wondered what the Prince thought of him.

"Legolas, we have not seen you in ages." Merry and Pippin, for all the weight they carried, came swiftly to Legolas' side. Merry leaned nigh, his eyes barely level with the Elf for Legolas was seated. "You have not changed a bit. Your hair has grown longer, though." Legolas blinked. Somehow managing to shift their bounty into Sam's unwilling arms, Merry and Pippin leapt upon the unsuspecting Elf. Legolas gave a small cry as the two landed, Merry upon his thighs, Pippin his midriff. Frodo, ever perceptive, caught the brief furrow of the Prince's brow ere it was masked as surprise. Nor did the way Legolas' hand rose to protect his stomach escape his eyes. Frodo wondered if anything was awry.

"You will not turn us in, will you?" Pippin piped up.

"Do how I can, I will keep your secret." Legolas leaned back onto his hand to support the added weight of the Hobbits. His bright eyes sparkled in the light of day. "Unto that, I will say simply it was under my request that you acted."

"That is good. They won't suspect you, Legolas." Frodo added. "At least, they will not question your influence."

"Neither should they question yours, for it is rightfully more than mine." Legolas addressed them all. Behind his words lay his utter gratitude and confidence.

"Legolas is right." Pippin puffed out his chest markedly. "The kitchen staff should not treat us as scoundrels."

"They wouldn't, if they did not have to keep chasing you away from the pantry." Sam explained, exasperatedly. "Mister Legolas, Sir, don't go putting ideas in their heads, if you please. It will only encourage them."

"Oh pish pash." Merry wafted a hand in the air as if to dispel the request. "And as long as we have it, we might as well share it. Legolas, would you like some?"

"You are just trying to spread the blame for when you are caught," Legolas' sensitive ears heard Sam grumble as he settled back down. "Though it does look good. . ." Pippin began to sort through the food, waving a portion of it in front of Legolas' nose, which was justly as sensitive.

In the pit of his stomach, Legolas felt something turn ill. Its cause he could not descry, other than the food being urged on him.

"Here, we have some cheese, and a dash of wine. . . Ah, and some mutton, bread of course. . ." The voices of Merry and Pippin, listing their glut of food, were as distant now as the lap of waves upon the seashore. He could feel the pallor that overtook his features. With the utmost of self control, the Prince withheld the contents of his stomach, despite his body's struggle against him. Wherefrom had this sickness come?

Frodo watched with growing concern as Legolas' lips became down-turned, his features, but for a moment, what he could only describe as nauseous. Having been frequented by ill health more often than he would have liked these passing months, it was not hard to spot the signs of it in someone else. Again Legolas' slender hand came to rest upon his stomach.

"Legolas," Frodo whispered, knowing Elves possessed hearing uncanny even by the standards of Hobbits, "are you alright?" Legolas' lips were now tightly pursed. He shook his head and blinked his eyes. The distant look that had invaded his gaze faded somewhat, though the blanch of his face did not. His bright eyes fluttered to look at Frodo.

"Hmm?" The Elf yet looked dazed.

"I asked if you are feeling alright?" Frodo repeated gently. Something was surely amiss.

"Ah, forgive me. I have not slept well these past nights, that is all." Legolas gave a warm smile that would have convinced most of his well-being. Frodo remained unconvinced. Nevertheless he shrugged his concern to the side for now. Legolas was an Elf and mayhap he was already tending to whatever ailment might have befallen him.

Legolas forced himself to stay. In his mind, he wanted to converse and be merry. These were friends he had not seen in so long. His body, however, rejected the normally inviting smells of whatever it was the Hobbits had mixed together. With each offer of 'a bite to eat,' Legolas felt the nauseous turning feeling in his stomach return and politely declined.

"It is no wonder you are skin and bones, Legolas. It's not natural not to eat, you know." Merry shook his head. He proved his point when he tried and failed to pinch any skin around the Elf's midriff. "Not even skin," Merry sniffed, "just bone."

"There is some muscle to him. Whereat it is hidden, even I do not know. And now you say he is not eating?" A new voice inquired. The four curly heads of the Hobbits swivelled 'round. Leaning inquisitively over them stood Aragorn. Legolas' eyes twinkled.

"Mister Strider! You gave us all a fright. . . Well, save Legolas, I amm sure," exclaimed Sam, catching his breath between words. Aragorn took a seat next to Legolas.

"For that I am sorry. My intention was to catch my Elven friend unawares. I know not if I succeeded." Legolas gave a quick shake of his head. His senses had informed him of Aragorn's approach e'en ere he had rounded the corner, but it had neither been by sound, sight nor smell but rather intuition. He could sense his friend's presence quite profoundly, and so it had become nigh unto impossible to take Legolas by surprise. Once in a while, though, it was bound to happen

"Alas, Aragorn, it is your dole e'er to give off a musty scent when upwind," Legolas jested, albeit somewhat feebly. The Hobbits all laughed, save Frodo, who gave a chaste grin. Aragorn guffawed briefly, not one to pass up an opportunity to find humor at his own expense. Not unlike Frodo, he too perceived Legolas' ill-health. He realized, however, that it would severely wound Legolas' pride to mention it in the presence of so many others.

"Legolas, you are trying to change the subject. You really should try some of these mushrooms, the best I've had in a mighty long time. They will put some meat on your bones." Pippin hinted, trying to draw the subject of conversation back to something he knew considerably more about.

"Pippin, mushrooms do not put meat on one's bones," Frodo added with a shake of his dark head.

"And you are the one changing the subject, not Mister Legolas," Sam chided softly.

"No, thank you, Pippin, but I would that you. . ."

"Nonsense," exclaimed Pippin, breaking off a piece and pushing it into the Elf's mouth before he had a chance to stop it. His arms were, after all, already occupied with holding up the weight of two Hobbits. Merry chuckled, Sam raised his eyebrows, Frodo and Aragorn waited anxiously and Legolas looked thoroughly stunned.

The Prince's jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth. Two options made themselves clear to him; spit out the offending food and likewise risk offending the Hobbits or swallow it and risk it coming back up of its own accord. Legolas decided, under great duress, and slowly, cautiously began to chew. He swallowed as it were a knife sliding down his throat. _Stay down, stay down _. . . for a moment all was fine. The tension that had built itself up in so short a time faded quickly, as stiff shoulders beneath skilled massaging hands. Legolas gave a little laugh, to reassure Pippin, and was about to speak thusly when Aragorn spoke first. The King acted as though he had only just remembered.

"Legolas, I apologize for snatching you away, nevertheless, Gimli and I were of the hope that you would join us for a spar. Your senses would be put to better use judging our blows, anyways."

Legolas glanced briefly at the Hobbits as if seeking their leave. Frodo nodded with a wink in the Elf's direction. The others were too caught up in a heated discussion about wether or not Elf's ate mushrooms to notice. Sam's audible sigh was heard above the voices. Frodo turned quietly to Legolas.

"We will see you at dinner tonight?"

Legolas nodded back with an appreciative grin. He rose somewhat more hampered than of oft and Aragorn took him by the arm as if to lead the way.

"How has your stomach been, my friend?" Frodo caught Aragorn whisper softly into Legolas' ear as they disappeared down the courtyard path. He waited a time to speak, half listening to Merry and Pippin argue and Sam sigh, half in deep thought, weighing all that had happened. His attention was pricked, of a sudden, by the drift in Merry and Pippin's friendly row.

"I wonder why Legolas left in such a hurry, Merry?" Pippin inquired, flicking a stray crumb from his overcoat.

"Strider said he was to judge a bout. I am sure he had his reasons." Sam folded his arms crosswise over his chest, nodding his head in a quick jerk as a convincing finish to his sentence.

"He did look a twinge under the weather, if you know what I mean." Merry noted, scratching at a speck of dirt on his cufflink. "What do you suppose brought that on?"

"Probably the food you forced on him!" Cried Sam in dismay. Sam found himself both grateful to Legolas, for being so understanding, and worried. What if Elve's _didn't_ like mushrooms? What then would be done? And mayhap, worse yet, what if that dislike of mushrooms was precisely wherefore Legolas had fled?

"I think that is a part of it," Frodo said quietly. The three others turned instantly to him. Noting their attention after a moment of further thought, Frodo continued slightly more audibly, "I think that Legolas was feeling ill even ere the food was brought near him. The smells of it all, they just brought his illness out more profoundly."

"So it wasn't Pippin that made him sick?" Sam asked hopefully, but not too hopefully. He very much hoped that Pippin was not to blame for the Prince's sudden ailment, but Sam also, in the far reaches of his mind, knew that it was better a mushroom than something unknown and perhaps more dangerous.

"I think Pippin's mushroom only made it worse, though there was no way he could have known beforetime." Frodo paused again.

"Aragorn must have realized, or perhaps he already knew, and therefore made the excuse and whisked Legolas away." Merry waved a loaf of bread in a scholarly manner as he spoke, Frodo's deduction having dawned on him. "We will have to see how he is doing at dinner, I am sure Aragorn took care of him."

The discussion seemed to have come to a close, and the Hobbits were satisfied with their conclusion. Merry and Pippin continued to eat, disposing of the evidence of their recent crime. Sam would not aid the pair. "The ends do not justify the means," he had adamantly explained, all the while catching the tempting whiffs of food on the air. Frodo, too, had declined. His own appetite had not been nearly as hearty as that of most Hobbits this past year. Illness had frequented him, coming on its wanton whims to encumber him. He could sense its presence in the air, though yet far off. In his heart, he knew from whence it drew its cause. Nevertheless, he hoped it would relent with time, thus the ultimate solution avoided. Frodo wondered if Legolas suffered similarly under the Sea Longing.

Frodo could not say if that was the cause of the Elf's ill-health presently, for Frodo felt that that had to do with something entirely different, but he imagined that it had taken its toll. When first Frodo had met Legolas, there had been a whimsicalness about him, a freeness that could not be harnessed. Since then, a weight seemed to press upon the Elf's soul. Legolas' very being was ever bright, he yet danced with and without, but now he danced iron clad rather than barefoot, each step so cumbersome without a partner that it strained the very fibers of his make. He had hidden this away for none to see. Few did, but Frodo could. Frodo had born the burden of the Ring, a burden that was forever with him. His heart ached for those under a similar weight, able to see with piercing gaze through the veil sewn to hide such burthens. Frodo felt that all those dearest to Legolas would come to know.

"You know, for awhile Rosie would get horribly sick if she smelled certain things," Sam reflected as Merry and Pippin finished the last of the food.

"When was this?" Frodo asked, Sam's voice having pulled him from his own musings. Sam began to turn slowly red.

"Oh well, actually. . ." he scratched his head nervously, "it was. . ." he tapped his toes together anxiously, "it was when she was, well, you know, expecting."

"Expecting what?" Pippin asked curiously. Sam twiddled his thumbs, fidgeting somewhat restlessly.

"Er, well. . . a baby." Sam chirped, the words jumbled into a single sound. His ears were a stark pink.

"Elanor." Merry added, knowingly. "You mean she had morning sickness?" Sam's curly head bobbed a few times in what was taken as a nod.

"Only it was not only in the mornings. . . mostly when she caught wind of something, food by and large."

"Well it does not have to be in the morning, that is just what it's called. This one waitress down at the Green Dragon, she would always talk of it with her lady friends if one of them was expecting, usually it was her, tho. She would tell them that your nose can be your worst enemy at times and at others a very useful guide, on account of the way mothers to-be get a heightened sense of smell. "_You can count the vegetables in the garden with it at times, sniff out a little nipper hiding from chores at another_." That is what I remember, at least. This was a long time ago I heard it." Merry spoke, hardly embarrassed by the subject at hand. Merry chuckled then, having thought of something amusing. " Wouldn't it be something if that were why Legolas were sick?" Merry jested in stitches. Pippin chortled into his drink, chocking briefly, a dribble of wine dripping from his chin.

Frodo shook his head, smiling at Merry's humor. None there gathered appeared to notice the way Sam blanched. Merry's jape had spurned on a startling recollection. In fact, this recollection was the very reason for the four being gathered thereat. Sam had seen Legolas knitting. Sam considered himself to be a Hobbit of sound mind, and had come to regard himself of a certain level of intellect. And as impossible as the idea would seem, in some inconceivable way, it made sense. Thrice Sam shook his head in an attempt to jostle the thought from his brain but it would not leave him. Several minutes passed ere Sam awoke from his shocked stupor, and he awoke in the most stunning of fashions.

"What if it is true?" He blurted, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. Three pairs of astonished eyes came to rest on him. Sam heard the sound of his lungs, breathing hard and fast.

"What's that, Sam?" Pippin managed, his eyebrows so high upon his forehead Sam swore they would climb past his hairline and mingle among the curls. Sam took a few breaths, trying to becalm his racing heart.

"What if Mister Legolas _is . . . _expecting?" Of a sudden his throat felt dry and parched, as a desert untouched by water for many months. His voice cracked.

"Sam, that iss ridiculous," Frodo reasoned, his voice sounding incredulous, "I am sure Legolas is just ill. He was holding his stomach the whole time he was here."

"Faramir mentioned a small grippe among a few of the townspeople. That is probably to blame." Pippin had earlier conversed with the Steward of Gondor, and vaguely recalled the subject coming up. It seemed a reasonable enough explanation, the more he thought about it. Legolas had caught what the townspeople had spread.

"But Pippin, Elves do not get sick. Or catch the grippe," Sam exclaimed, a flood of emotions sweeping across his face.

"Surely they have upset stomachs."

"But I saw him!"

"You saw him what?" Merry, Pippin and Frodo asked as one, growing more and more concerned for their panicking companion.

"Knitting!" Sam cried, making a wild gesture with his arms. "Knitting the smallest of socks!"

He did not know what color of reaction he had anticipated. Forsooth, he was not entirely sure if any one of the Hobbits would believe him. Surely they saw him as a madman by now. A heavy silence fell upon them, all consuming as a thick fog. Sam imagined the minutes that ticked past were some of the most awkward of his life. He was glad to see them go. The four Hobbits sat, each doing his best to hold the gaze of the other three. At long last the silence was broken, dispelling as though a great zephyr had swept through it.

"I love to knit," Merry said carefully. "How about you, Pip?" He raised a brow to encourage the other.

"Hm? Oh, yes. I do it all the time. I knitted these socks." Pippin said equally carefully, pointing to the socks that he did not, in fact, have on. Sam groaned, throwing his hands over his face as a means of hiding. Frodo sat quietly and calculatingly. Sam watched miserably as the awkward silence resumed. He knew very well that Merry and Pippin were lying through their teeth. It was a preposterous idea to have voiced, but how could they not see it?

"Do you think it is possible?" Pippin asked meekly, having leaned in close to all in order to whisper. It was a conspiracy now. It felt only natural to whisper about something so dangerous, so wild, so mysterious.

"I do not know, Pip." Merry answered, his eyes wide and voice low. "I mean. . . I suppose, in some unimaginable way that it could happen. He is an Elf, maybe it works that way?" Merry could scarcely believe that he was explaining such an idea. Sam peered out from betwixt his fingers. Mayhap he had not gone mad, Merry and Pippin were curious now as well.

"Mister Frodo, what do you think?" Sam could not bring himself to look. He squished his eyelids closed, so nervous was he. Faintly he could hear the scuff of Frodo's feet as he stood. Timidly, Sam opened one eye. "Mister Frodo?"

"I think we ought to ask Strider, just to disprove what you are thinking." Frodo announced, having reached a sound resolution. Although the facts added up in their outre way, Frodo knew that there was a logical explanation for this mix up. He had sensed something amiss with Legolas, but nothing of _this _sort. And it would certainly not help anybody to go about spreading rumors about something that had hardly any basis. Frodo could picture the chaos now.

Bilbo had taught him much about the customs of Elves. If rumor spread that Legolas, _even if it is possible, which it is not_, was 'expecting' it would cause horrible complications. Elven wedlock was consummation by the traditions of Men. If Legolas was 'expecting,' _which he is not_, that would mean that he was married, and Frodo was quite certain that he was not. Elves typically married upon coming of age, between fifty and one hundred years of life, which meant that Legolas' being unmarried was a peculiarity caused either because of his status or by his own will. Either way, there was a reason behind it. It was said that one could distinguish between the voices of those married and those not. Frodo had no such skill, but Aragorn and many others did. If anyone bechanced to overhear, however, it would give Legolas troubles innumerable. Being immortal did not mean that an Elf spent their whole existence occupied by lustful fancies. Legolas was a virgin, could not in any way be 'expecting' and belike could be insulted if accused. These thoughts spurred Frodo's haste. "I think we ought to ask _now, _before anyone overhears you saying such things."

Frodo began to walk down the courtyard path, in the direction he had seen Aragorn take Legolas. They would find Aragorn, tell him of their misconceptions and be done with it. Frodo was reassured by the pitter patter of Hobbit feet behind him, sprinting to catch up.

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_The next chapter will be posted shortly, I really hoped you liked it. Reviews are appreciated, too. Thanks for reading!_

- _Papercut_


	2. Stitches of Despair

_Author's Notes: Wow, six reviews. Thank you very much (Keji, fallen-into-shadow, Yuggster, EruntaleofRohan, Elvin BlueEyes, Alpha Draconis1). Also thank you to anyone who read, or favorited this story._

_Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim to own the characters or realm herein used. They are all so property of Tolkien, his estate, etc.  
Summary: Legolas has strange symptoms, and the Hobbits suspect something even stranger._

The Risks of Knitting

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"How has your stomach been?" Aragorn asked concernedly, but low and beneath his breath. He would not have others hear. Legolas waited until they had walked some distance aways, pondering how Aragorn had come to realize his injury.

"Fine." The pair approached a stone bench, on a balcony overlooking the gardens. It was the middle of summer and all colors of blossoms adorned the ground, little patches of blues, yellows, and reds encircling the statues of antiquity. The treetops stretched their arms higher even than the railings of the balcony. The leaves quivered in the slight breeze. The sweet, clear smell of the same breeze calmed Legolas' stomach, and he was thankful.

As Legolas slowly took a seat, Aragorn expressed his doubts, eying the stiff manner in which his friend moved. "Somehow I find that difficult to believe."

"Well you had best try." Legolas replied, turning the other cheek. He knew what Aragorn was prying at. Despite his gratitude towards Aragorn for realizing his erstwhile plight, he was reluctant to speak of it.

"Legolas, my friend, you cannot honestly think that! Your face is yet green." Aragorn exclaimed, standing akimbo and slightly baffled. He took a calmer tone as Legolas narrowed his eyes. "Confide in me. Feelingly, that you would hide your health from me saddens me." Aragorn sat down next to Legolas, their sides lightly touching. For a time, the man was unsure as to whether or not his words were heard. He placed a calloused hand on Legolas' leg. At length, the Elf's voice came in a whisper.

"It has been . . . troublesome." Hesitantly, Aragorn reached towards the Elf's midriff. As hand brushed hand, Legolas flinched. Aragorn met his friend's questioning blue eyes.

"May I?" Aragorn's hand withdrew, hovering nigh unto reaching Legolas until he received consent. Carefully, Aragorn began to undo the fastenings of Legolas' jerkin, next pushing up the thin undershirt beneath. Legolas laid back against the bench, the cold of the stone sending a chill up his spine.

By laying down, Legolas gave unto Aragorn free range to examine the area. Hiking the undershirt up past Legolas' stomach he revealed not only flesh but an angry gash. It ran a jagged course beginning at the sharp point of a hipbone and fading as it settled into the depression betwixt prominent ribs. Aragorn's fingers ran gently across the plane, pausing only to gauge the heat emanating from the lesion. Legolas was biting his lip.

"Did Gimli tell you?" Legolas' gaze was fixed on the dancing green foliage.

"He did." Aragorn continued in his examination. "He told me that he feared you would not come to me." Legolas clenched his teeth, cutting short a hiss as Aragorn began to employ pressure around the gash. Aragorn gave an apologetic look. "His fears were well placed, for they proved truthful."

"I could have managed on my own," Legolas said in no more than a breath. A twig snapped loudly in two from around a corner. Legolas and Aragorn, but of a trained ear, stiffened. Straining their senses for the source, they waited. A bird fluttered loudly from thereabouts, chirping happily as it claimed the sky. Both let out a breath.

"Mayhap, but already you have a fever. It was clear to see you were having difficulties keeping food down." Aragorn noted, placing his forehead against Legolas' own. "_Im prestannen achen_. I worry for you. An Elf you may be, but invincible you are not."

"I have not claimed to be so," was Legolas' pithily voiced response. Legolas realized at once the tone he had taken. "I am sorry," he apologized, biting at his lower lip, rueful of the sharpness of his reply. Aragorn shook his head.

"There is no need to be." Aragorn patted his chest, feeling for something in a pocket. Finding a lump in the form of what he sought, he reached in, pulling out a small phial and dressings. "I only wish you felt more compelled to seek help when it is needed." Aragorn took Legolas' slender hand into his own, in preparation for what he was to do.

"Estel, you . . . Aah!" Legolas began, and then cried out suddenly. He shut tight his eyes, his back arching as a horrible burning spread forth across his chest and middle. It was so bitingly painful, and so unforeseen, he clenched his hands fast both around Aragorn's hand and the stone of the bench as a brace. Aragorn had, without warning, poured the contents of the harmless looking phial unto the wound. Inside had been a salve, to promote healing and disinfect the afflicted area.

Aragorn shoved the empty phial into his pocket and placed his hand gently at the center of Legolas' breast, using only the slightest pressure. He could feel the Elf's chest quickly rise and fall, he could feel his rapidly beating heart, he could feel Legolas' hand tighten around his own.  
Soothingly he moved his other hand astir Legolas' breastbone. Anon, Legolas' breathing calmed and his grip slackened somewhat. His eyes fluttered open once more, bright yet overcast, withal perceiving the hot throbbing of his wound in time with his pulse.

"I am sorry, my friend." Aragorn murmured softly, his face a look of understanding. Now it was Legolas' turn to shake his head.

"There is no need to be," he breathed in hitches, affording a brief smile as he returned Aragorn's own erstwhile words. Aragorn lowered his head in both a nod and appreciation. He had experienced the bite of the used salve on smaller hurts and knew its sting. He did not think he had humor left to spare on said occasion. Legolas moved to unlock his hand, but Aragorn held it tightly. Using his free hand, the King began warily spreading the salve more evenly across the wound.

"I would stitch this, if you would let me." Aragorn suggested. The gash was fresh, Legolas having only arrived late in the night. There was yet time to sew the already angry flesh together again. It was deep enough to warrant such attention. Legolas nodded. He had perceived the sensation of stitches before and admittedly did not enjoy them, nary a soul would, but he trusted in Aragorn's words as a healer. "Verily, I would use herbs to numb the area, but I am chary of the location. I will do what I can, yet you will feel much of it, my friend."Again Legolas nodded.

"I trust you."

"Very well."" Aragorn revealed a small pouch and from it removed a needle. Already he had cleaned it extensively. When Gimli informed him that Legolas was injured, he had prepared himself well for all possibilities, sterilizing thread and needle both. All colors of herbs he had ground with pestle and mortar into unguents for various uses. Now knowing the nature of Legolas' wound, he was glad he had done so. It would save unneeded hassle. His tongue peaked out from between his lips as he squinted, threading the needle. Unto the wound he applied a thin layer of what would partially numb the area. He was about to begin but, a thought coming to him, he paused. He placed Legolas' slender hands atop his shoulders, remembering how Legolas had clutched his hand and the stone bench minutes agone.

"You might know, Gimli told me not how you were done this injury." Aragorn felt it best to converse as he worked. It would provide some distraction, at least for the time, and it would help in his healing to know the source of the deep gash. Great and heroic stories were told of warriors wounded in battle, warriors who continued on. Aragorn knew Legolas to be one such warrior, but he knew also that these stories tended to neglect the simple fact that wounds hurt. Considerably. Legolas sighed, having known this question was to come.

"If you must know, it is mostly of mine doing." Legolas paused, inhaling sharply, Aragorn's needle steadily uniting the torn flesh, "I was in flight from Eryn Lasgalen."

"Wherefore were you in flight from your own home?" Aragorn queried in alarm. What reason was there for a Prince to flee his father's kingdom? Aragorn had heard of no conflicts in the realm of Legolas' father. Legolas' lips twinged upwards in a sort of smile, his face reflective and oddly sarcastic.

"Do not worry, Estel. It is silly, forsooth, to have acted so much upon so little. But that which is done is done." The Elf answered cryptically as always.

"What is done?" Aragorn met Legolas' eyes in time to catch the flash of anger that lay thereat. As soon as he had seen it, it was gone to be replaced by the warmth that was wont to be found. Aragorn could only assume that this anger hailed from what Legolas was about to say.

"I have named Gimli Elf-friend." Aragorn raised his eyebrows, looking up from his work once more. He could remember a time when neither Elf nor Dwarf could offer the other a kind word. Now Legolas proclaimed this to Aragorn full of pride, not in the least ashamed despite the opinions of much of his race. "I announced it to my father's court to their unanimous disapproval, in Gimli's presence even. I was prompted to revoke the title, and so I refused. I next went to my father whilst he was alone and thus more free to express his own ruling. Can you believe, Estel, what he told me." Legolas, in his crossness began to sit up, forgetting momentarily his position. He winced, Aragorn guiding him downwards again. Sighing, he a began anew. "_Too long have you been gone, too long under the influence of your wanderings. It is due time you settle down, marry and be merry. You have done much to prove your worth, do not do unto our name the insult you would ask of me. Let all of Arda honor and admire Gimli son of Gloin, but let the Greenwood remember. Let them remember the misdeeds of his forefathers against our Realm lest they be allowed again_." I told him that the misdeeds of Gimli's forefathers are in like wise our own and that he would do well to recognize that, but he would not hear it. That very night I woke Gimli and declared that we were leaving. It was only after we had crossed the borders of my Realm that I conveyed to him my reasons." It had taken considerable effort to muster up the strength for such a long explanation, and Legolas was somewhat out of breath. To further hamper him, Aragorn's hands were e'er at work, so accustomed to his task that they stitched well-nigh on their own. Yet the very memory of what had happened stirred in his breast such emotion that he could for a time forget the poke and pull on his skin.

Aragorn had listened with awe to Legolas' story. He had wondered how it was that Legolas had time to be in Minas Tirith for the festivities, although he had complete faith that if there was a way, Legolas and Gimli together could find it. The pair's relationship was so unique, Aragorn doubted if either had fully realized its complications. Thranduil's reaction towards Legolas' heartfelt declaration must have come as a horrible shock. In time, Aragorn dreamt that Legolas, being so youthful, could sway the minds of the very old, those who would be the most opposed to change. Aragorn realized then that he had stopped in his stitching.

"It is a sad day when someone does not recognize what you and Gimli have, sadder yet when someone does not realize its worth. Your father will change with time, I am sure, and you have no lack of it to persuade him." Aragorn smiled, fondly remembering the way the Dwarf and Elf regarded each other, now and in the past. A strange expression came over the Elf at that, as if he was not so sure. Of where his insecurity lay, Aragorn did not know. The King decided to sway from the topic of time, for of late it was particularly sensitive to the Elf. "But you have yet to tell, how were you wounded?" Legolas nodded, resuming his tale.

"Soon thereafter, for in my haste to leave my father's words hindmost me I cared not what dangers lay ahead, Gimli and I were met by a small force of Orcs, perhaps six of them. Orcs that, had I an ounce of sense to my name I would have easily been able to avoid or do away with without injury. Nevertheless, with them they had an archer. If you notice, my gash runs its course through the arrow wound that informed me of our quandary. I fell from my horse, leaving poor Gimli to navigate alone. . .ah" Aragorn could feel Legolas' hands tighten on his shoulders, kneading now and again as a cat was wont to do. Far be it from Legolas' intention to imitate, indeed the Elf was hardly aware of his body's actions, and thus he unknowingly revealed to Aragorn whither the pain was the worst . Aragorn proceeded with the utmost of gentleness.

Legolas continued once more, knowing the power of distraction. "Ere he could control the horse, the Orcs were upon me. In my absentmindedness I had strapped both my bow and my knife to the horse, with Gimli, who was by then very much out of reach. Thither I received my wound. I owe Gimli my life for he drove the horse at the Orcs, wether by coincidence or purposely, himself falling onto them, axe in hand. Afterwards, I patched myself up as best I could and Gimli rode all the while hither, stopping only for the sake of the horse. In desperation he is not so bad a rider." Legolas' retelling was as crisp as though he had transported Aragorn to witness it himself. He left out no details he deemed important, while not saying so much as to make it weighted with unneeded information.

"I wonder at what your father would say to your rescue by a Dwarf?" Aragorn could only imagine, the King of Greenwood the Great, in all his ire. But mayhap Thranduil would find it possible, in the depths of his heart, to thank a Dwarf for giving him innumerable years with his son.

"Certainly it is embarrassing to admit to being saved, Gimli will never let me hear the end of it. But, I . . . I am glad to be alive, and to have been saved by a Dwarf is not so bad a thing. My father, however, I do not doubt that he would disinherit me, if he has not already."

"Legolas, Gimli was sincerely worried for you when he came to me. Indeed he said to find you with all speed, for he dreaded what your stubbornness would do to your well-being. He regretted, too, that he was not anon by your side once, as I have now learned, you were shot. And your father will not have disinherited you, he has more sense than to lose so valuable an offspring as yourself." A blush began to tint the Elf's cheeks, ever so lightly. They were silent for a time. Aragorn worked swiftly yet tediously, at all times gaging Legolas' discomfort by his grip and reacting accordingly. At last he was finished, for it had been no small task to patch and had taken no short while.

"I will dress the wound now. It is well that you informed me of your encounter with an arrow, it ran deeper than the rest. Can you sit up?" Neatly Aragorn bit off the thread, wrapping it around the needle and placing it in its pouch.

"Wether I will or I nil I take it I must." Aragorn nodded sadly.

"Verray, Legolas, you cannot lay here forever, but sit up slowly, I will help you." Again Legolas grasped the edge of the bench, pushing off slowly. Pain seared through him, as painful now as it was when the blade first marred his flesh. He began to double over, bending and wrapping his arms protectively around his stomach. With the comforting knowledge of Aragorn's hand on his back, insuring that he would not fall, Legolas sat up fully. For a moment, he could do no more than slump against Aragorn, his strength having left him. But Aragorn needed a free range of movement to apply the dressings and bind them taut, so the pair rearranged, both straddling the bench. The King sat backmost the Elf so as to provide support; Legolas could lean back against Aragorn's chest without hindering his access to the wound as he bandaged it. Legolas gave a gasp the first times Aragorn pulled tight the dressings, but soon grew accustomed to the feel and was able to anticipate it. The process seemed to Legolas reminiscent of a time, long agone, when he happed upon a woman, her corset being laced by a maidservant.

"So your father now is urging you to marry?" Aragorn could not resist asking. Legolas huffed. The question had tempted his tongue since first he heard it. Indeed that Thranduil had suggested it surprised Aragorn far more than his reaction to Gimli. Aragorn himself did not known precisely Legolas' reasons for neglecting to find a partner, but the more he thought on it, the less he could imagine it. Legolas simply did not seem one to partake in it. His first love was Arda, and though his heart had since been stolen by the Sea, Aragorn did not see it being stolen by an Elf-maiden. Legolas would not experience much in his lifetime and Aragorn felt some sense of guilt for that. He should not have let Legolas so near the Sea. And although it was Legolas' choice to follow, as a leader Aragorn could not stop believing that it had been his duty to know when too much was being sacrificed.

"Aye, and much good that will do," Legolas scoffed sarcastically. "But I know not if he spoke seriously, or merely as a means to draw me from Gimli. Regardless, I am no good for marriage."

"Any maiden would be lucky to have you." This Aragorn knew to be an understatement. Rumor of Legolas' fair face spread quickly. In agreement with the Elf's return to the White City, such rumors were reborn, spreading akin to the ripples of a once quiet water, soundless and all-reaching. His arrival was announced on wavelets of gossip for many of the women Folk and indeed some of the Men folk greatly admired him for more than just his personality.

"Nay, Aragorn, I think not. I do not think that I could permit myself to marry."

"Why is that?" Legolas turned slowly to Aragorn, his heart heavy. Aragorn quailed at the weight of Legolas' gaze, the profound anguish he unveiled piercing him as no blade ever could.

"I would sooner die than do onto someone I love what I have done to myself. You know of what I speak. You know also, it was my decision. From following you, neither words nor admonitions could have swayed me. Nor could I, I who did least amongst the Fellowship, have lived with myself for forsaking a friendship in so dark an hour." Legolas spoke solemnly, his stare regarding Aragorn in all severity as if daring the King to blame himself for what he could not have forestalled. And what a sight to behold, the severity of an Elf. Even Isildur's heir, he who had challenged the Dark Lord himself, had the desire to shrink from it. Legolas looked away fleetingly and when his gaze returned it was resigned, its usual glow dim as a candle caught in a draft. "No matter, Estel. I do not desire it, marriage." Legolas gave a wan smile.

"Oh, Legolas." Aragorn held the Elf at arm's length, staring into the depths of his eyes, eyes which Legolas could no longer bring to stare back, "You needn't do this to yourself." Aragorn took Legolas gently into his arms, knowing the importance of what Legolas had said. "_Uir ce vellon nîn, ce gwador vuin nîn I Im sí gen annad dulu."_

"_Gen hannon o guren, Estel."_ Legolas spoke softly into Aragorn's shoulder. He had not been expecting an embrace, but was thankful for it nonetheless. Amidst comrades it always seemed to impart strength, and he was in need of it. He had not given much thought to his father's hinting at marriage, not until now had he realized that he must stay firm in his decision to avoid. Verily, Aragorn was the first to whom he had bestowed this secret. The Sea Longing was first among his reasons for stave it off, for he knew someday he would leave Arda and sail to the West. He would not force someone into such a permanent decision nor would he expose someone to the Sea. And in truth he did not see himself giving up his wanderings. Too attached he had become. Besides, his friends' happiness could likewise be his own.

"_No achirich I lalaith gîn_, Legolas." Aragorn glanced down at the Elf who seemed to brighten in his arms. Legolas was deceptively strong, sinewy. Aragorn had once compared him to a deer in that he was young and spry but would make for the worst venison; too tough. Holding him, by physique alone it was difficult to believe he possessed the strength demanded to draw the bow he shot with ease.

"Un, _aníron gladhad, mellon nin." _Legolas peered up at Aragorn with a more promising smile, not feeble as before, but bright, one that rivaled the sun in its warmth. Neither was it forged for it was pure.

"That is a much more encouraging sight, my fair friend. Should despair befall you afresh, do not hesitate to seek me out. Or Gimli. You should know, he understands you better even than I, I would wage. " Aragorn tussled Legolas' hair, standing slowly and lifting the Elf carefully with him. Legolas frowned.

"Now that is a despairing thought indeed, a Dwarf so knowing of the Elves." Legolas feigned concern, accepting Aragorn's aid in standing upright. "Imagine should my father know." Aragorn chuckled, finding comfort in the side of Legolas he was more familiar with. He ventured a glance into the Elf's eyes and was realized to find naught but fondness and life. His despair had, for the time being, had withdrawn, gone back whence it had come. The King was determined to keep an e'er vigilant eye out for signs of its return so as to quash it in its infancy. With luck, he would have a Dwarf as an ally in combating the Sea Longing and all its forces.

"We had best make our way to the Dining Hall. Far be it from me to keep Merry and Pippin waiting for their meal."

"We are late as is," Legolas noted with a glance at the sky. Betimes in the day it had been decided to serve dinner at a later hour, seeing as Merry and Pippin had insisted on elevensies and so forth. Nary a soul had the stomach to compete with the Hobbits and for this reason, nary a soul felt they would be hungry enough at the usual time. "I fear for your kitchen staff, my Lord," Legolas grinned, we speedy fingers finishing in re-fastening his jerkin.

"The Valar save us, then let us hasten, my Prince, for Gondor paid no miserly sum for their service," and with that Aragorn swept Legolas from his feet and hied his way towards the Dining Hall.

"_Nan gaer ar in elin_, Estel, put me down," Legolas exclaimed in surprise, his face flushing fast. In his plight for the use of his own two feet he did not relent but Aragorn, being both larger and, for the moment, of better health remained victorious.

"Nay, I think not. It is quickest this way." And it was in this likeness that they arrived late for dinner, Aragorn bursting through the doors and managing to alarm most of those seated within.

* * *

_Translations:_

_Uir ce vellon nîn, ce gwador vuin nîn I Im sí gen annad dulu _Forever you are my friend, my beloved sworn brother, I am here to support you.

_Gen hannon o guren_ I thank you from my heart

_Im prestannen achen _I am worried for you

_No achirich I lalaith gîn_ may you find again your laugh. (More or less a way of saying 'I hope you feel better.')

_Aníron gladhad_ I want to laugh

_Nan gaer ar in elin! _by the sea and the stars!

_I might mention, though, that this isn't an Mpreg (not that I mind them, I suppose), just a misunderstanding among the Hobbits. But hey, anyone might wonder about an Elf. They _are _androgynous, after all. Lol. Anyways, any affection between two male characters in this story is basically friendship, which was considerably more intense long ago (i.e. greek, etc.) and, after WWI and WWII, both of which came and went in Tolkien's lifetime. There was a revival of comradery and love for your fellow man. I know in the current day and age this is often interpreted as 'homosexual' which saddens me. I feel like we have lost a great thing, trust and love for each other, that sort of thing. Not that I mind slash, mind you. There are some very good slash stories out there (I wouldn't mind writing one, even), but this one isn't. I just wanted to show that intense male friendship, ne? I've always envied and admired, well, I guess you'd say soldiers for the way they take care of their own, so much that they'd die for each other. Being a girl I always kinda feel left out of that. Lol. _

_I hope you like the story/chapter, and I'd love to hear what you think. I'm not quite sure where I'll go with this (though there will be a next chapter, wherein Gimli at long last shows up. After all, we have to know how the Hobbits realize their err, and everyone's reaction to the King's tardiness), but I'm sure I'll think something up plot-wise._

_- Papercut_


	3. Explanations

-1Sorry it took me a billion years to post another chapter. But thank you to all of you who have commented! I really appreciate it; it makes me so happy to read them. This will be the last chapter, unless there's some great demand for another, I think it's a good place to end. It was fun to write, I hope it's fun to read.

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all names and characters associated with it are property of Tolkien and his estate. I have no claim to them, aside from my adoration, and earn nothing from this.

The Risks of Knitting

Two main halls were of oft used by the King and his court. One, its marble floors an unwavering pattern of squares, was so spacious that voices echoed dauntingly, mingling above as they rebounded towards the arched celine. This hall was reserved for those occasions whereupon the King entertained dignitaries, or tended to matters of great and dire import. It was a solemn place, cold and gray, its meager warmth dependent wholly upon its occupants. A long table, enormous by other standards seemed dwarfed by the vastness of the Hall. The chairs, stiff and straight of back, offered no solace. They cascaded downwards in height equally, none standing higher than the one prior nor the one at the head, the King's chair. A merry blade, surrounded even by the most lusty of gentlemen would feel the hall's weighty formality press down upon him.

However, there was another hall, smaller and less formal, its floors an unimpressive stone and its celine considerably less reaching. Strewn nearest the hearth were fur mats, comforting on cold nights. The oak table, standing awkwardly in the center of the hall, had lost its sheen from overuse; scuffs and stains adorned its surface. Iridescent light danced through three stain glass windows at the far end and a crackling fire warmed its guests. In gloaming, the last sunbeams, orange and intense, radiated a glowing cordiality. In night, silver strands of moon and star shimmered hauntingly across the floors, giving all that it touched a ghostly beauty. It was in this hall that the King preferred to dine.

Early in his reign, ere he had stumbled through the neglected wooden doors of this second hall, the King was wont to dine in the first, the hall that countless Kings before him had used. But, after numerous expeditions to the far reaches of the fortress, searches in wings and corridors long unused, he had located what he dubbed the second hall. Anon he forsake the hall of his forefathers to bask in the conviviality of his own.

Here the Fellowship had gathered for dinner with the King. His absence, then, was immediately noticed. Nine chairs there were and four were empty. One would have been occupied by Boromir, who had perished in their quest and was not expected to attend, his chair left of courtesy for his memory. Another would have seated the wizard once the Grey, now Gandalf the White, but he would not be arriving for two days more, and thus his absenteeism explained. The King's chair, at the head of the table, and the chair to the King's right hand, belonging to Legolas, remained unfilled.

"What has become of the punctuality of the Elves!?" Gimli exclaimed heatedly, pacing up and down the length of the table. "And he chides me for tardiness!"

"Gimli, you will wear a path in the floor if you do not stop pacing," Merry sighed, eyeing the silver platters of food that the kitchen staff had laid out. Delicious scents taunted his nostrils, their curling wafts drifting in and out of reach. Gimli had been pacing since arriving to find Legolas gone. He was worried, though he would not say it, that perhaps Aragorn had not located Legolas as he had requested. Or perhaps, worse yet, he had found the Elf and further complications had ensued.

"Dinner at sundown, that was the agreement. The sun has set and where is he? Admiring the stars, I do not doubt!" Gimli took his seat in a huff, crossing his arms across his breast. He was silent for a time, narrowing his eyes at the inexplicably empty chairs. One finger tapped anxiously against his forearm. The Hobbits watched it in waiting, knowing the Dwarf's quiescence could not last long. Sam counted the seconds as they passed, hardly reaching fifteen ere Gimli was storming in the direction of the door, grumbling about having to retrieve an Elf from a tree. He slammed the door loudly behind him.

Immediately the Hobbits looked at each other, each having the same thoughts on their minds. With Gimli gone, they felt it safe to discuss the conspiracy that had started earlier that day.

"Frodo, you don't suppose Legolas is still with Aragorn, you know, as when we saw them?" Merry asked, glancing over his shoulder to reassure himself that Gimli had truly left.

"If you are going to try to convince me of what I think you are, then I am not sure if I should answer you." Frodo raised a brow in expectance of a reaction to his cryptic response.

"But Frodo, we saw him, you were there! He was not judging a bout, Aragorn was examining his _stomach_!" Pippin enunciated the word stomach, elongating it so that its emphasis would not go unnoticed.

"That is the proof, he must be. Why else would Aragorn do that?"

"I think that they would both be offended to know that you were spying," Frodo answered knowingly, unwilling to accept what the other Hobbits were so convinced of. Certainly he was open-minded, but in this instance, he was sure. Mayhap Elves could do what Sam, Merry, and Pippin were saying, but nevertheless, Legolas would not, at least he had not yet.

"They almost saw us because of you, you know. The only reason they did not is on account of that noisy bird. " Still Pippin could remember Legolas' sharp eyes pinned on the place the four Hobbits had lay hidden.

"I wanted to ask them in person, so that this might be resolved," Frodo reasoned. Had Merry and Pippin not lunged upon him, he might have accomplished it. "Why not ask Legolas when he turns up, since you do not believe me?"

"But Mister Frodo, what if we are wrong?" Sam asked nervously. They could not simply ask Legolas lest they insult him.

"Ask Aragorn, then," Frodo suggested just as the doors creaked open again. Gimli had returned, more frustrated then when he had left. Merry, Pippin, and Sam stiffened, having come close to being discovered.

"I cannot find him," Gimli sighed as he again took his seat. His foot began to tap.

"They are not so late," Sam piped up. The sunset was as fireflies floating hindmost the stain glass windows, the faintest glowing orange in a field of the deepest blue. Aragorn and Legolas were at the most ten minutes late, for in truth, all had pre-accounted for lateness, though on neither the King's nor the Elf's part.

"Are you worried for them?" Pippin asked innocently enough.

"Peregrin Took, wherefore should I worry o'er so flighty a creature as an Elf? And Aragorn," Gimli sniffed, "he ought to be a better influence on Legolas." The Hobbits realized that Gimli must be worried for the pair, for he had not answered the question. There was silence save for the pop and snap of the fire. And then there was a voice that could not have been the chattering flames. "Do you hear that?" Gimli listened hopefully.

It came from the other side of the wooden doors, muffled and barely audible, but a voice so otherwise distinctive that it was impossible to mistake. It sounded as though it was protesting something. The door groaned as it was pushed open. The doors burst, but not so loudly so as to hit the stone walls with more than a dull thud.

"Put me down!" It was Legolas, "pleeaase," but he was not walking rather being carried. It would have been no easy task to carry him, not for his weight, truly it was slight, but for his squirming.

"I have counted your stitches, Elf, and will know if you have torn one from your fidgeting. We are almost there now." Aragorn quietly reassured him, not loosening his grip on Legolas. No one spoke, for no words could describe their confusion. All eyes followed as Aragorn reached the head of the table, observing with peculiar expressions. Almost Gimli leapt from his chair and ran to Legolas' side.

Aragorn hooked his foot around Legolas' chair, pulling it out from the table. Carefully he placed Legolas in it, next pushing it closer to the table.

"Valar, was that so horrible?" Aragorn asked, calmly taking his own seat.

"Yes," Legolas murmured, eyes latched onto the tabletop and face flushed.

"No one saw, really."

"Yes they did," Legolas said, fearing his chagrin would last forever, his hands clutching the chair, shoulders stiff. There came a sputtering sound from around the two. Merry and Pippin were covering their mouths, trying desperately to keep from laughing. Frodo and Sam had the heart to look apologetic, tho' their lips could not help but quiver, now and again a titter escaping Sam. Gimli was the first to resign to his fate. He sniggered and chortled, in both relief and humor.

Legolas stared morosely at the table. He who was a proud, brave, Elf did not need to be carried. But as he heard the happy laughs of those around him, his chagrin faded. These were friends; there was no shame in showing weakness in their presence. He knew these thoughts to be true, as he felt Aragorn's strong hand drum against his back.

"You see, my friend, we would laugh with you, save you are not laughing," Aragorn comforted, with a side glance to his Elf friend. A twinkle grew in Legolas' eyes, and the King knew that all was well. Legolas looked up with a growing grin.

Gimli twice smote the table, his eyes teary for laughing so hard. "So this is what you do in my absence?"

"'Tis a privilege to sweep Legolas from his feet, if you must know, so much that many an envious maid and blade alike turned their heads in jealousy as I passed. How could I resist?"

"A willowy lass you looked, swept off her feet by your King,"

"Happily, I would be a willowy lass than a stout Dwarf," said Legolas with a friendly

smile. There was no sting in his words, nor ill intent.

"Yea, Legolas, and happily will I walk whither you yourself must stoop."

"Forsooth, because your beard has weighted you down."

Aragorn held up his hands. "You both have had your sport. Come now, the food will grow cold."

"Here, here!" exclaimed Merry who began at last to dish out the food that had for so long tempted him. The room echoed with the sound of plates and silverware, platters and bowls. There was the comfortable silence of eating, when mouths are too preoccupied to talk.

Aragorn noted with a disapproving eye, that Legolas was not eating. That was not good; he must still feel ill. He was not the only one to notice. Gimli was watching the Elf not unlike a mother hen, now and again offering him foods, all of which were politely declined. Verily, the smells of food could not be comforting to a disquieted stomach, but Gimli was growing irritated with his friends refusal to eat; and whether he would admit it or not, his irritation was a mask for his worry.

Luckily, Legolas knew how to assuage his dear friends' fretting. Aragorn watched, mesmerized, as the Elf placed a hand on the table, caught the Dwarf's eyes, and calmly responded to the other's questions. His eyes showed only a faint cloudiness, his wound hurt and he would not lie, but he convinced Gimli of his well-being.

Of a sudden, there was an immense crash. The great doors flew open once more, this time rattling menacingly on their hinges. All seven heads swiveled as one. A silhouette stood in the door, as inscrutable as the night. Gimli's strong hand tightened about his axe, and Aragorn stood from his chair.

"Name yourself!" Aragorn demanded, commanding all his kingly authority.

The figure drew nigh, and leaned against the head of the table as if resting. His head was bowed, and the fire threw dark shadows across his face. And lo, he began to laugh. It was a deep, and throaty, ancient laugh which filled the room. He stood straight, and threw down his unkempt cloak.

"Gandalf!" The hobbits cried.

"You started without me," the figure said, as though that were explanation enough. There was a smile in his voice. He pulled out a chair and took a seat, in the slow manner of all those truly old. He drew back his sleeves, and rested his white staff against the table. His eyes crinkled into a grin, wrinkles etched across his face.

"You're early!" Aragorn managed, utterly staggered.

"Indeed," Gandalf huffed, tidying his weather blown beard.

"But a wizard arrives precisely when he means to," Frodo quoted. Gandalf nodded in his direction.

"Which means I am on time, in fact" Gandalf said to Aragorn. "Now sit Aragorn, your food will grow cold." His eyes crinkled into a grin. Aragorn sat down, shaking his head in bemusement.

Aragorn felt like commenting on the fact that the doors of Minas Tirith did not appreciate being so rashly tossed about, and that he happened to be particularly fond of these doors.

"So tell us, Mithrandir, why it is you are here _on time_?" Asked Legolas, glad for a distraction.

"Aye, tell us, Gandalf. The scare you gave us warrants a proper explanation!" Gimli said gruffly.

"Oh hoho," the wizard cleared his throat and proceeded in a decidedly cryptic tone. "Well it is in the nature of all wizards to come and go from whence they have been, to where they wouldst be. And since I am no more one to defy nature than the West wind to change its headings or the tide to defy the moon, I simply came from whence I was sooner than I said I wouldst be." There was silence. Gandalf had succeeded in saying a lot, and imparting naught. The hobbits were thoroughly befuddled. "But no matter where I was! I am here now!" Gandalf announced. "Let us eat!"

"I can toast to that!" exclaimed Gimli, who lifted his tankard, some froth spilling forth from its rim. Gandalf poured himself some wine and passed the decanter. As the wine came to Aragorn, it was obvious that the King was reluctant to pour Legolas a glass. He leant close and whispered something in the Elf's ear. Legolas shook his head defensively, and Aragorn begrudgingly filled his goblet. Pippin grew anxious. He tugged subtly at Merry's sleeve.

"Merry, what if he doesn't realize he can't drink that!"

"Who drink what? Legolas? Why not?" Whispered Merry.

"Because, you loon, it's bad for. . . well, you know!" Sam piped in, flushing. A look of comprehension spread across Merry's face. Everyone was raising their glasses to toast, and the hobbits watched in horror as they clinked together.

"Wait!" Sam cried, just before the liquid touched the Elf's lips. "Wait a minute!"

Everyone turned to Sam; he reddened under the force of so many questioning eyes.

"What is it, Sam?" Asked Aragorn, raising a brow. "Was there something you wished to toast to?"

"No, no, it's just that. . . !" Frodo jabbed Sam in the side and gave him a ferocious glare, begging him not to say anything. _Let it be, Sam!_

"What is it? Spit it out, lad," insisted Gimli.

"Legolas, you can't drink that!!!!" Sam shouted.

"Now Sam, I know he cannot hold his liquor, but I think he can handle a mere glass," chortled the Dwarf. Legolas was about to retort to this newest slight, but was interrupted.

"No, you don't understand, mister Gimli, he _can't_ drink it!" Reiterated Sam, increasingly desperate. He did not want to say it here, not in front of the whole world. He had hoped Legolas would understand, or Aragorn, but both only looked more confused. He had children of his own, it would not be right no to speak up. Sam looked to Merry and Pippin, relieved to find them all equally concerned.

"This is getting ridiculous. Elves drink wine all the time," Aragorn began, "Now, let us. . . "

"But he _can't_ drink it because he's _expecting_!!!!" Shouted Merry, Pippin, and Sam together.

Gandalf's eyes widened; well, it certainly was a good thing he arrived early. He would regret missing the expressions on everyone's faces, Legolas appeared specifically shocked. The Elf blinked. Aragorn opened his mouth but no words came. Gimli spat out his drink. Frodo, well known for his composure in sticky situations, smacked his forehead in frustration. Gimli turned swiftly to Legolas.

"What, you are!? Wait, that is not even possible!" Gimli leapt from his seat. "_Expecting what!?_"

"Expecting what indeed!" was all the Elf could murmur, his ears burning bright red.

"A baby, what else!" piped Pippin.

"And just _how_, Peregrin Took, do you fathom _that_?" Demanded Aragorn, leaning towards the hobbit fiercely.

"We thought you already knew!" Merry announced matter-of-factly, coming to his friend's defense. "We saw you examining his stomach earlier! He has morning sickness, he hasn't eaten a bite of dinner, and he was _knitting_!" Merry emphasized accusingly, turning to Legolas.

The Elf said nothing; he was too astounded to speak. Aragorn stood abruptly. This was beyond ridiculous.

"Legolas is _not_ expecting," he proclaimed, his tone daring anyone to challenge him. But the hobbits would not be bought. They had seen undeniable evidence.

"Prove it!" interjected Pippin, himself standing up.

"Legolas has yet to deny it!" Merry pointed out, standing up next to Pippin. Sam did not know what to do. He was caught between the act of sitting and standing, in what looked to be a highly uncomfortable position. Frodo had crossed his arms, and refused to look at any of his fellow hobbits. Gandalf and Gimli slowly turned to Legolas.

Merry did have a point.

"Enough! I _will _prove it!" Bellowed Aragorn. Legolas was clearly too flustered to properly defend himself, and this misunderstanding had gone from comical to exasperating. And Aragorn was losing his patience.

Gingerly, he pulled the chair in which Legolas was seated, and the Elf with it, back from the table so he could be seen by all.

"I examined Legolas' stomach this morning because of this," and Aragorn lifted up Legolas' tunic to reveal the bindings he had earlier applied. His stomach was as flat as e'er it had been. Pippin gasped.

"Legolas, you'll strangle the baby if you do that!" Cried the hobbit. Legolas rolled his eyes and pulled down his shirt. He was speechless.

"Those are bandages, Master hobbit," corrected Gimli, who was beginning to understand wherefrom stemmed the hobbits' confusion, and finding it increasingly hilarious. Gandalf chuckled quietly, congratulating himself again on his early arrival.

"I wrapped them myself, because Legolas is _injured_," continued the King before the hobbits could interrupt, "and he has been feeling ill and not eating properly as a result. _Not impregnated_."

"Oh."

The hobbits became wholly silent as the weight of realization came crashing down upon them. Merry and Pippin sat down. Aragorn pushed Legolas' chair back in, and flopped down into his own, resting his forehead in his hand. Ridiculous.

Frodo coughed, and glowered at the three offenders.

"Ahaha, sorry Legolas," Pippin smiled nervously.

"Sorry, Mister Legolas," croaked Sam, eyes glued to his mashed potatoes. Oh how he wished he could be mashed into an unrecognizable blob. "We didn't mean any harm, honest."

"I mean, you really can't blame us for wondering, he _looks_ feminine enough. . ."

"Merry!" hissed Frodo.

"Sorry." He twiddled his fingers. "It was meant as a compliment, though. . ." he murmured.

Legolas had yet to recover his composure. Indeed he was sure it had headed for the hills, and bade him a fond and permanent farewell. And did Merry just say he looked like a woman?

There was another awkward silence that pervaded the room. Gandalf cleared his throat.

"Well, now that that is settled . . ." Gandalf began, but mid-sentence, an odd, mischievous, wizardy twinkle entered his eyes. Legolas spotted it, and sent his iciest, most menacing glare in the Grey Pilgrim's direction. He knew just what Gandalf was thinking. . .e'en Gandalf the Grey might have crumbled in the face of such intensity, but Gandalf the White would not be outlasted. "But why _were_ you knitting, then, Legolas?"

All heads whirled to face the Elf.

Aragorn raised his brows. He had not thought of that. "That _is_ a good question, my friend. Why were you knitting?"

Legolas was unsure of what to do. He had a justification, a simple one at that, but to say it would reveal some details that were not his place to reveal. He turned to Aragorn, obviously harried, and motioned for him to come close. He whispered something in the King's ear.

"Ahh. . . I see."

"What? What did that pointy ear tell you?" Demanded Gimli.

Aragorn stood up once more, sharing a glance with Legolas as he did so. The Elf nodded, granting him a supportive smile. Gandalf was simply brimming from his seat at the table. Had he been wearing a hat, the shear mirth emanating from his being would have blown it clear off. Frodo looked from Gandalf to Legolas, and sensed that both knew some secret. Both possessed the same pleased, reassuring gaze.

"Well," began Aragorn, "I was not going to announce this until dinner tomorrow, but considering the circumstances, I suppose you all deserve to know." He paused. The hobbits were entranced, what would he say? If they blinked mayhap they would miss it! Merry and Pippin gripped the edges of their seats, leaning nearer as though their proximity could coax the words to come out. Aragorn gently nudged Legolas, who continued with his part of the explanation.

"I was knitting because I was making a gift," the Elf reached into a pocket and withdrew two tiny silver slippers, carefully crafted and embroidered with the white tree of Gondor, and placed them on the table. "A gift for Aragorn and Arwen." Frodo began to smile; at last he understood.

"Arwen and I will be having our first child, you see," proclaimed Aragorn proudly.

"And I could not let my Lord's child go shoeless," Legolas handed the slippers to Aragorn, in whose hands they were no larger than his thumb.

"Ohh," said the hobbits as one.

"Oh ho ho," said Gimli, and patted Aragorn heartily upon the back. "That does explain it. Congratulations, man!"

"Well, somebody is having a baby, so we weren't completely off the mark," Merry added, elbowing Pippin.

"It's true, our senses are nigh infallible,"

"Well, that' s overdoing it a bit, Pip, but the point is. . ." And the hobbits had begun

another argument amongst themselves.

With the amount of commotion that already they had caused, their quarrel was as a distant lull, and no one bothered to mediate. When the fire had at long length died down to glowing embers, and the moon was high in the sky, the hobbits dispersed to their quarters, after offering a few more apologies to the object of their well-meaning torture. The tall-folk remained, "comparatively tall" as Legolas opted in the case of Gimli, and watched the night sky from the balcony while the torchlight threw shadows that danced at their feet.

The city was calm and still save for a few lonesome flickering lanterns below. The air was chill and lingered on the flesh. It was a clear and cloudless night, and from their lofty far-flung perches, the stars observed their onlookers with mild curiosity. The moon meanwhile acknowledged that it was not her business to intrude, and more unobtrusively shed her light.

Legolas leaned against the balustrade in silent reverence of the world at rest. Gandalf pondered, starring off into nothingness, twisting his long beard betwixt his fingers, and puffing smoke rings from his pipe.

"I hear Legolas has named you Elf-friend, Gimli son of Gloin," Gandalf said suddenly. The three others turned to the wizard.

"How did you know?" Gimli asked, puzzled.

"You can hear anything," Gandalf responded, motioning vaguely with his pipe towards the inky firmament. "If you listen."

The Dwarf harrumphed, "well, that goes without saying."

The wizard chewed on his pipe, and peered down at the Dwarf from hindmost the length of his nose, "it took courage for him to bestow, and it took courage for you to accept. He puffed his pipe. "I am sure you know, the very wise and the very old are not always right. But they are stubborn."

"Gandalf, you have described yourself," Gimli muttered, "therefore you could be wrong."

"Ah, well, there are always exceptions," the wizard winked. "But I also said I could be right. No, they will see. Now I am off to bed. Congratulations, Aragorn, and you too, Legolas, and goodnight," with that, Gandalf wrapped his cloak about himself and departed, as abruptly as he had arrived.

The Elf blushed, though it was obscured by the dim light.

Not long after Gandalf's leave-taking, Gimli excused himself from such "Elfin folly as star gazing," and headed to bed, however only after inquiring as to the condition of a certain Elf.

Now only the King and his follower lingered beneath the moonlight. They stood in silent reverie until anon, Aragorn yawned. He was tired. Legolas had not moved for some time, perhaps he was dreaming? There was a contented look upon his fair face, and the silvery moonbeams shimmered in his hair.

"Legolas, I fear I must sleep. It is late, and the morning will come too quickly," Aragorn began, and took a few steps away from the balcony.

"Oh, yes, of course," and Legolas made to follow.

Aragorn paused, and then turned around. With care and speed he scooped the other into his arms and headed indoors. He felt the other's gaze upon him.

"What is it?" Asked Aragorn.

"Oh, nothing," the Elf looked away, "only that soon, you will have a little baby to tote around instead of me."

"Yes, well you are very childish, which makes this good practice." He could feel Legolas' quiet laugh against his chest.

"Do you think I will make for a good father?" Aragorn asked suddenly. Legolas looked up at him.

"I am certain of it." He paused. "Save shave your beard; babies do not appreciate prickly kisses, e'en from their father."

Aragorn carried Legolas to the quarters he would share with Gimli (as a good healer, he refused to let the Elf spend the night unattended). He glanced down at the Elf, who, though no longer struggling, did threaten to dart if not held onto. His arms were crossed as he stared blankly ahead.

Aragorn wedged the door open; he could hear Gimli snoring soundly, and noisily. The Dwarf, in his kindness, had prepared a bed for his friend. Gently, the man let the Elf to his feet. "Stand here but a moment, my friend."

Legolas could hear Aragorn rummaging in the room next, and when he returned he held nightclothes. Carefully he helped Legolas out of his tunic and undershirt, and into the loose, gathered shirt. It would be more soothing against his wound than a close fitting tunic. Lifting the slight form to the bed, a question entered his mind. Standing in the doorway, and gazing at the silhouetted features of his dear friend, he could not resist.

"Legolas?"

"Hm?"

"It's not possible, what the hobbits were. . .?"

"No!"

"Huh," Aragorn thought for a minute. He grinned. "Do you think you can walk?"

"Not now, why do you ask?"

"Oh, well, then I will know to check on you in the morning. . . . . and also that you cannot catch me if I say you would make a beautiful mother to be!"

And even with the knowledge that Legolas would not be able to pursue him, Aragorn ran for his life. Because Legolas was an archer, and Aragorn did not know where his bow was hidden.

---------- END -----------

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